


come back home

by mindero



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindero/pseuds/mindero
Summary: Molly has never been as good at tracking as Yasha.





	1. rise

**Author's Note:**

> hey! my first critical role fic is.... almost here. seeing as its only a few words as of right now. uh. i had to get the first (and the shortest, probably in the whole world) part out now before i chickened out ksdljskjf 
> 
> anyways im so happy my fave kiddo molly is alive and semi-well !!
> 
> gonna be updating pretty frequently, but no specific days of the week cause im bad at following plans. yeehaw

Battling his way out of his grave is no less traumatizing the second time. The fear seizes his lungs and makes his heart feel like it’s going to give in, but he, for the second time in his life, succeeds to break the surface of the ground. For a moment he struggles to breathe even without the soil trying to fill his airway, his fingers digging into the cold earth beneath him, but even amidst the terror, he feels relieved, because he... he _remembers_.

He remembers the fight, the pain, and the look on her face… on _Beau’s_ face, when he told her to run, and he remembers Lorenzo looming over him before he–

The rest comes back slower.

He takes the jacket dangling from the stick with trembling fingers and wraps it around himself, feeling cold in ways he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. He finds the note in one of his pockets and then spends what feels like hours trying to make sense of the markings on it. He knows how to read – he’s not good, and he doesn’t do it much if he can help it, but he knows how – and at last, just as tears threaten to spill from his eyes in frustration, the letters start making sense to him.

Zadash.

He’s fairly sure which way to go as he tucks the letter in the pocket of his jacket and starts walking.


	2. follow

Molly has never been as good at tracking as Yasha. He never needed to be. He didn’t have to fall behind and leave for a few days or weeks and then find his way back – he lived all his life touring with the motley crew of the carnival, a smile on his face and a million things to experience on his to-do list.

Now, his to-do list is in the form of a letter.

He’s a few hours into his journey towards Zadash when he comes across a couple riding a carriage with what looks to be at least six children. They seem friendly, or at least not like they want him dead, so he asks for directions. The man sitting on the carriage and holding the reins look at him oddly like he ought to know where he’s going, but after a story Mollymauk spins for him with a genuine smile, he confirms Molly’s going the right way. Molly thanks him and waves at the children sitting at the back before he speeds up – he needs a place to rest before the night falls or he might end up dead again before he even has the chance to tell his friends that he’s…

He’s what? Back? Just woke up not unlike from a short nap, feeling right as rain again? He’s not sure if he’ll need to explain if they’ll be suspicious of him and his apparently consistent resurrection skills. He knows Yasha trusts him, because she’s been there since his beginning, and Jester is Jester, but the others might not take his word for it as easily. Not Nott, not Fjord, not Caleb, probably not Beau.

Still, he makes his way to Zadash with sheer determination, if only to make sure that no one feels guilty. He won’t have his friends thinking that their actions resulted in his death, especially when he rose from the dead, seemingly for the second time in his life.

By the start of the journey, he can only focus on the one thing: Zadash. He passes through a city called Hupperdook and only stops to buy something to eat on the road before he focuses back on the task at hand. When he stops, not too far away from the city walls of Zadash, though, he remembers so much more of his life and what happened within the city walls than he’d thought. Not only that but once the flood of memories come crashing in, he remembers something else, too.

He stops on his tracks so fast he almost trips and falls over. Jester, Fjord, Yasha. How could he have forgotten? They were _taken_ and Molly has no idea if they’re safe. He has no idea how long it’s been since he died.

He looks back in the direction he came from and feels torn. The letter said to go to the Gentleman, but wasn’t it written as they buried him? He has no idea how long it’s been since he died. Did they make it to Shady Creek Run already? Did they make it back? He hopes so - would pray if he believed in that sort of thing - and decides against changing the direction. He’s already in Zadash, and he has no map that tells him where Shady Creek Run even is. If this thing with the Gentleman falls through, though, if he knows nothing about the Mighty Nein, he might be forced to stumble his way through the lands with nothing but the words of strangers of what’s where.

His mind made up, he forces his feet to move and walks deeper into the city.

He feels himself holding his breath whenever he sees a glimpse of blue or green skin, a flash of blue clothes or reddish-brown hair, but no matter how much he strains his eyes and ears, there’s no sign of his friends here. After an hour of aimless wandering after vaguely familiar strangers, he straightens up and starts making his way towards the Evening Nip.

He remembers the words he needs to get access into the lower floors of the tavern, but only barely. The Gentleman is surprised to see him and seems interested in his resurrection. Molly refuses to tell him anything before he the Gentleman tells him exactly how many of the Mighty Nein he had met last time they came by.

The relief of hearing that they’re alright - they’re _all_ alright - makes all the air in his lungs leave in a rush. He hates that he has to show such vulnerability in front of the Gentleman’s watchful eyes, but he cannot stop himself. The knot in his throat unravels and he has to keep his eyes closed in order not to goddamn _cry,_ but in the end, he thrusts his feelings down, to be dealt with later, and faces the Gentleman’s scrutiny.

It isn’t until after what feels like hours of questioning and watching the sweat dripping down the Gentleman’s face that he gets to excuse himself, only to run into Cree. He spends another eternity assuring her he’s fine, making false promises and acting like he knows exactly who she is. There’s a brief moment when he feels bad for lying to her, but it’s quickly overridden by the urgent need to leave the tavern and get going.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek in order to walk the stairs up instead of running. He knows his wasted valuable time by trying to make the Gentleman believe that he really does not know how he is alive, or why, and then trying to convince Cree of these things. But in the end, three good things come out of his visit in the Evening Nip: one, he knows his friends are okay; two, he knows where they were headed once they left the city; three, he now has a sword. It’s not really _his_ (he’d had to almost beg the Gentleman to take pity and give him something to fend off strangers,) and it certainly isn’t the best, but it’ll do.

He gets a lift out of Zadash on the conditions that he helps the three dwarven men carry their merchandise to their carriage and doesn’t try to steal anything. He sleeps with his fingers curled around the hilt of his sword and his arms wrapped tightly around everything else; all he has is his coat, the letter, and as much dried meat, bread, and rations as he could afford with just a few copper pieces to spare.

Every time another carriage passes by him he has to stop whatever he’s doing and breathe, fight the burgeoning panic that’s telling him he should run. He can feel the phantom pain of the glaive every time he lets himself get distracted. Every time he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s alive, he thinks about his friends and how it had been so much worse if one of them had been struck down instead of him. He can bear himself dying, but can’t imagine Yasha going down and not getting up, can’t imagine being able to go on after that.

 

* * *

 

Molly and the dwarves pass through Alfield, but the dwarves don’t plan on stopping there and Molly doesn’t ask them to. He can see the town has made some progress with rebuilding, but they still have a long way to go - both the town and Molly.

He does part ways with the dwarves in Trostenwald. It looks different, although he doubts much has changed except for him. This is where all of it started. The disbandment of the carnival and the forming of Mighty Nein, although none of them thought at that point they’d still be more or less together months later.

He stands in the middle of the town and stairs at the sky, giving himself a moment to feel nostalgic, and then goes to find the stockade.

He’s surprised when he hears Gustav’s debt has been paid off, but less surprised to hear that Mighty Nein did it. He asks for directions and heads for the lake.

He finds him near the edge of the lake, a knife in hand as he works on a large fish, taking off the scales and bones. He has a slight frown on his face from concentration, but otherwise, he looks… he looks like he’s alright.

He waits until Gustav puts the knife down before he makes himself known.

“Gustav!”

Gustav’s looks around, his eyes widening when they land on Molly and he drops his the head of the fish at his feet. He scrambles up from the rock he was sitting on.

“Mollymauk?”

Molly grins. “Hello,” he greets the man, walking forward. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I thought-” Gustav starts before stopping himself. He starts laughing and greets Molly halfway, drawing him into a hug, with plenty of clapping between Molly’s shoulder blades. “I should’ve known death wouldn’t keep you down for too long.”

“Doesn’t seem to stick,” Molly agrees.

He draws back and looks at his old boss. He looks rather well for someone who’d been imprisoned just some weeks ago. His newfound freedom must’ve done wonders.

“Come, come, let’s sit down and have something to eat,” Gustav says, ushering him towards a campfire near the edge of the lake. “I’ve had a good day, the fish seem to be amenable to this bait I’ve been using--”

They talk and eat the fish that Molly thinks really isn’t that bad for being fish. He finds himself laughing for the first time since he broke the surface of the earth, and it doesn’t take long until his voice gets tired from all the talking after being silent for so long. When he no longer feels like speaking, Gustav hands him his flask and gives him a brief account of the Mighty Nein’s visit.

“I didn’t see Yasha, though,” Gustav says, giving him an apologetic look. “She must’ve been off doing her thing.”

Molly thinks about Yasha finding out what happened and seeing his grave and closes his eyes until his feelings no longer threaten to suffocate him. The cold of the upcoming night threatens him again, so he wraps his coat tighter around himself and pours more liquor in his mouth.

After that, it doesn’t take long until his eyes start to droop and he finds himself agreeing to stay the night in Gustav’s home, a hut that he had rented for cheap after deciding to stay in town for a while.

It’s not a glorious place, but Molly has seen worse, and as long as he doesn’t have to touch the ground while he sleeps, he’s more than happy. He wakes up early when Gustav does, accompanies him back to the lake, and cleans himself up in the cool water before he hugs Gustav goodbye and continues his journey.

It takes two days of walking before he finds a group that’s making their way to Nicodranas and willing to take a passenger for no coin. There are two human men, an elven woman and a halfling woman who for some reason never seems to take off her armor. She has her hair up in multiple tiny ponytails, and she keeps picking her teeth with one of her daggers while making eye contact with Molly. No one comments on it, so he thinks it might be usual for her, and he tries to answer the silent challenge once by picking his teeth with his own sword. Then he remembers he doesn’t know where it has been and almost cuts his tongue in his haste to get it away from his mouth. The halfling snorts and leaves him alone after that.

Somewhere between Trostenwald and Nicodranas he takes off his coat and ties it around his waist. It takes a bit maneuvering as it is long, but he manages and doesn’t think it ends up looking too bad. Later, as the sweat starts prickling his scalp, he charms (begs) a ribbon off the gnome woman and ties his hair up. The wind brings over the salty smell of the ocean, and before the carriage starts nearing the city, he thanks the group for the ride and insists on hopping off and walking the rest of the way.

He’s breathless at the sight of the ocean – it’s bigger than anything he’s ever seen, and although judging by what little Fjord has told them, he doesn’t find it in himself to be afraid. He stares at the glistening green-blue horizon in awe, knowing that’s what his friends have also seen. He thinks about Nott who isn’t too fond of water, of Fjord who’s long for the sea, of Jester whose home is somewhere in the cluster of buildings snuggled against the ocean and has to sit down to catch his breath.

It would be so much easier to deal with all this with them. To share the mixture of feelings the ocean elicits in him with people who share them. Instead, he deals with it on his own. He knows what Jester would say – it’s beautiful, you guys –, knows Fjord would agree with her, but insists that it isn’t to be trusted while being giddy in a Fjord-ish way. He can almost feel Nott’s nervous energy just seeing water that reaches above her knee. He’s not sure how Beau and Caleb reacted, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. It’s just him, staring in the horizon, at the sun setting below the glistening line of the sea, turning the sky into pinks, oranges, and reds.

He isn’t sure what they’re here for (the Gentleman didn’t share that much) so he goes for the only person he knows of - Jester’s mother. She’s hard to get a hold of, what with being beautiful and rich and popular, but once he gets close enough to speak to her, he only needs to say Jester’s name in order to get her attention.

Marion Lavorre is sophisticated and more beautiful than he had imagined – nothing Jester had shared comparing to reality – and she is smart, too. She sits Molly down in her living quarters and paces across the room, her eyes never leaving him. She’s intimidating, even with an excited puppy running around her feet.

Molly stares at the dog trying to get her attention before snapping his attention back to Marion.

”She told me about you,” Marion says, a suspicious glint in her eyes. ”She said you died.”

”I did,” Molly confirms, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, feelings uncharacteristically nervous. ”I don’t know how much she told you, but this isn’t the first time I haven’t stayed dead.”

”Resurrection spell?”

”Not that I know of.”

He doesn’t think she believes him, but she does stop pacing around the room, and instead sits down on the chair opposite of him. She sits like a queen, even her frown looks regal, and for a fleeting moment, Molly wishes his horns looked like hers.

“And what is it that you want?”

It’s simple. Molly doesn’t have to think for a second before he tells her, though he doubts his answer bears the same weight as his feelings do.

“I just need to find them. I need to make sure they’re okay and that they… they know I am, too.”

She must see something on his face or hear something in his voice as he tells her this - something that words surely cannot convey - because her expression softens. She looks outside the window and plays with her necklace absentmindedly. She reminds Molly of those old paintings you mostly see in wealthy people’s houses.

“Jester contacted me before they left,” Marion tells him. “They got into some trouble at the docks and had to go. She didn’t say where they were going.”

“At the docks,” Molly asks, leaning forward in his seat. He needs any clue he can get. “When? When did they leave?”

Marion looks thoughtful.

“A couple of weeks ago, I think,” she says at last.

Molly sighs. Two weeks. He’s two weeks behind and will be more before he knows where they’ve gone.

“I can tell Jester to wait for you the next time she contacts me.” Marion is looking at him now, with sympathy written all over her face.

“Please. Please do.”

She nods and leans forward to scratch the puppy behind an ear. The dog wags his tail and licks her hand. He’s a cute one, but he doesn’t really know how to act around one. They get attached so easily, and life is so fleeting.

“This is their dog,” Marion says and straightens in her chair. “They left it here when they went out for business. His name is Nugget.”

Molly blinks dumbly at the dog, and the dog blinks, too - out of existence, and then onto Marion’s lap. She allows Nugget to lick her face once before she sets him back down on the floor.

“They got a dog,” Molly says.

“They did. And a weasel and an owl.”

It startles a laugh out of him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not.” She shares an incredulous look with Molly, but her eyes are sparkling with amusement.

The silence doesn’t get a chance to stretch; there’s a knock on the door, and they both turn to look, as a man peeks his head in. He glances at Molly, then turns his attention to Marion.

“Ma’am.”

Marion nods. “I’ll be right there.”

Once the door closes she rises from her chair. “Well, I have some business to attend to…”

“Of course,” Molly says, nodding. He’s about to kiss her on the cheek and leave, but she pushes him gently away by the shoulders.

“Let’s not say our goodbyes just yet,” she says, smiling. “I know you’re in a hurry, but you’ve come along way. Surely a bit of food, a good night’s sleep, and a bath could help you a long way.”

Molly is sure she means the bath first and foremost for he hasn’t gotten properly clean since his stop in Trostenwald. He can feel the blood rushing to his face as he takes a step back.

Honestly, he would love nothing more than to take her up on her offer, but there’s one thing that keeps him from doing so.

“I thank you for your kindness, truly, but... unfortunately, I haven’t got much money, certainly not enough for a place like this.”

“Dead men rarely do,” she agrees. “But you’re one Jester’s friends, and I’m sure you’ve gone through a lot - more than anyone should - so let me do this for you.”

“I will pay you back,” Molly assures her.

Marion waves her hand dismissively. “Keep my girl safe, that’s payment enough.”

“I will, Miss Lavorre,” Molly promises.

He absolutely intends to keep that promise, would even if he had no idea who Jester was. He thinks Marion has that effect on people, and even he isn’t immune to it.

The next morning he wakes up feeling clean and properly rested for the first time in weeks. He kisses both Marion’s cheeks before he leaves -- without Marion stopping him this time --, thanks her profusely, and tells her he will be back with the Mighty Nein someday soon. She smiles, but he doesn’t know if she believes him or if she already knows the truth: that the Mighty Nein will always go where the coincidence and conscience take them, and though they may come back, there’s no telling when.

That is why Molly won’t wait. He’ll find them instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments keep me going :^)


	3. predict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thursdays ep killed my writers block. bless

After parting with Marion Lavorre Molly sets out to get a job. He needs a few coins to get some necessities, like food and a place to sleep - general things he needs as a living person. He visits a few taverns before coming across a small place near the docks. A chipper woman who’s called Millie questions him for ten minutes before she directs him in the direction of the dishes, and suddenly he not only has a job, but a way to find answers.

During breaks and after working hours he chats up a few customers in hopes that alcohol might loosen people’s tongues, but the problem is most people have trouble remembering people they’ve seen that day, let alone days or weeks ago. On top of that, there’s the fact that Nicodranas is a port city. Lots of people come and go, and some of the people he talks to haven’t been in the city long enough to help him. It soon becomes apparent that none of the locals remember people with the characteristics of the Mighty Nein, so he broadens his questions to inquire about anything unusual happening around – fights, criminals caught, mysteries solved.

Now that, that gets him much more information. He doubts even a fraction of it is true – people like to tell stories about themselves or about a friend (or a friend of a friend) that are mostly about outrageous adventures on the sea and treasures on remote islands. The more he listens the less patient he feels. He can feel his smile slipping every time he realizes he has been listening to a story for more than ten minutes and the rest of it won’t get him anywhere close to his friends.

After a few of days of scrubbing grease out of plates and gaining no useful information, he counts his coins and parts ways with Millie. She tells him to come back anytime he needs work or wants to gossip, and he assures her he will, although he hopes he won’t have to. He’s on a mission and after it’s completed, he won’t be staying in the city anymore.

He’s given up on taverns for now and decides to make his way to the docks instead. It’s a warm day and the wind isn’t strong, so the ocean looks calm and peaceful. Molly stands at the edge of the docks for a moment, staring into the small waves crashing against the surface under his feet. He can see his own flickering shadow mirrored back at him, and he feels weird about it. Sometimes he finds it hard to think of himself as something that’s alive. It’s like death’s grip lingers on him and he can’t shake it off.

There are a few ships at the docks with people coming and going, some of them carrying barrels and boxes, some of them yelling out orders. He sees a small child among them, running up and down the docks before a man scoops him up in his arms and takes him back to the ship.

He doesn’t think he’s seen anything like it - not during these past two years or before that. Surely, he would remember if he had. These people -- going on about their business, traveling around, surrendering their fate to the ocean -- they seem like they belong, no matter how fleeting their presence in town is. Molly feels something like yearning building up in his chest as he watches and then forces his gaze away.

He can’t afford to get distracted.

He backs away from the water and goes to stand next to one of the buildings near the docks, keeping an eye on the people around. He knows there isn’t any information they could give him; he recognizes fellow drifters when he sees them.

He thinks about what happened here, what the Mighty Nein went through that led to them leaving the city altogether. It might be something similar to the Gentleman, an underground boss coming toe to toe with them. Maybe they crossed a line and realized they couldn’t stay. He can’t dismiss the possibility of them messing with the law, either, but whatever the case, it’s unlikely anything good.

He starts getting hungry somewhere during the afternoon and stops his watchful waiting in order to go get something to eat. He grabs a fish pie from one of the stalls near the docks and eats it on his way back.

One of the ships has set sail while he was on a food run, but it hasn’t gotten far from the docks yet. Molly stands there staring at it as it makes it way towards the open sea, slowly but intention that he wouldn’t have thought a ship was capable of.

He’s about to resume his position against one of the buildings when he sees to guards making their way down the docks, chatting as they look around to see that everything’s in order. He weighs his options for a moment, then decides there really isn’t anyone who could give him more information than a guard, if only he knows how to extract it without making himself look suspicious.

The guards near, one of them older with a bald head and a scar across his cheek; the other young, boyish-looking, with dark curly hair and a look on his face like he’s almost new to this.

Once they are close enough, Molly lifts his hand in the air, waving.

“Hello! Hi! Could you perhaps help me?” He smiles his best non-threatening smile, and the guards share a look before the bald one motions at the younger one to go on.

“Can I help you, sir?” The man asks. He has a hand on the hilt of his sword, but Molly doesn’t take it personally.

“I certainly hope so,” Molly says. He clasps his palms together and smiles at the guard. “I’m a writer, and I’m currently working on a piece that’s heavily based on Nicodranas. I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

The guard blinks, moves to look over his shoulder, then hesitates. He looks at Molly’s hands, then back at his face. “You don’t even have anything to take notes on.”

Molly chuckles, and just barely manages not to show his surprise. He had not thought of that. Of course writers take notes.

“No,” he says and taps his temple, “everything I need is right here. I have an excellent memory. And, I feel like writing notes when someone is talking to you takes away from the experience. You have to see the source in order to see the story.”

The guard opens his mouth, then closes it. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

Molly hums and nods, trying to look like he knows what he’s talking about.

“Well,” the guard continues, “I’d love to tell you what I know, but I’m currently working, so…”

“Oh, that’s alright. I could buy you a drink someplace in town tonight and we could talk about it.”

The guard thinks for a moment, then seems to warm up to the idea and they set up a meeting later that day. Molly parts with him with a friendly wave and leaves the docks just to go back to the inn he’s staying in. He takes a nap and busies himself with inane chores, like cleaning his remotely clean room and rearranging everything in his coat pockets, before he his room just as the sun looks like it’s about to set.

He arrives at the tavern called The Dancing Trout before the guard does. He orders himself a beer and drinks it as he waits. The tavern isn’t crowded yet, but there’s a steady flow of incomers as the evening draws close and the work of the day comes to an end for most. There’s a moment when he feels like the room is getting too full and the more the crowd talks the faster the room runs out of air, but he grips his tankard and breaths through his mouth until the feeling passes and the commotion in the room is just noise again.

He orders another beer and then one more when he sees the familiar guard walk through the door, now in civilian clothes. He looks even younger now, and Molly wonders if they draft literal kids as guards these days. He stands next to his seat and whistles loudly to get the guards attention, waving until he sees him.

“I realized I didn’t even get your name,” Molly says once they’re both sat down and comfortable. “I’ll be needing that as a source, too.”

The boy’s cheeks color and his eyes widen slightly in excitement. “Oh! My name is Marcus Alder, I… will it show up in the book?”

Molly grins at him and leans forward with one forearm on the table and the other one extended for a handshake. “It absolutely will. My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf. Thank you so much, again, for agreeing to talk to me.”

“Of course, uh. What do you want to know?"

“Ah, well.” Mollymauk waves with his hand. “What’s it like to be a guard in the city - anything you can tell me about recent activities or big happenings, and so on. Nothing that’s sensitive of course.”

Marcus makes a humming sound and takes a sip of his drink. “Well… it’s mostly uneventful, apart from breaking some drunken fights and looking into small break-ins and clearing misunderstandings, stuff like that.”

“Nothing big at all?” Molly asks, running his fingers along the ear of his tankard.

“Well, there was this…” Marcus starts, but falters. He purses his lips at his drink and glances up at Molly. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk about it, the ordeal is still under investigation.”

Molly taps a finger against his lips. “You know… this book I’m writing is at the research stages still. By the time it’ll be done and ready to be read you’ll surely have solved it. You seem like a really smart guy.”

“I mean-” Marcus says, blinking, “I’m not actually involved in the- uh… you think I’m smart?”

“I wouldn’t be talking to you if I didn’t, now, would I?”

Marcus chuckles quietly and scratches the back of his neck. “Thank you. I guess I could tell you a little bit?”

Molly smiles and nods at him, trying to encourage him to continue. He really needs this information. He’s not above bribery or threatening, but he’d rather get what he needs in a friendly manner. Marcus really seems like an okay young guy. At least for now.

Marcus edges closer to him on his seat, glances briefly around them, and lowers his voice as he says: “Two weeks ago at the docks we’re we met, there was a scuffle- more of a fight, really. Several people died.”

Molly feels himself stiffen. Marion didn’t mention anyone dying, but would Jester have told her through a message? She did say everyone was okay, but what if Jester was trying to spare her mother’s feelings or did tell her but went over her spell’s word limit?

“The other party survived, we think,” Marcus continues, seemingly oblivious to Molly’s inner panic. The speed of his speech and the now permanent blush on his cheeks suggest that half a single beer has gotten to his head a bit. “We’ve gathered they were there for a meet-up and something went wrong. It was too rushed and in the open to be a calculated hit.”

It becomes clear that the surviving party was Mighty Nein. Marcus continues his story, telling Molly about the guards’ involvement, probably exaggerating his own part in the story for flavor. The more he talks, the higher Molly’s eyebrows creep on his forehead. He hadn’t really imagined his friends going this far; it’s somewhat surprising.

“And, then, then the blue-skinned girl thrust her axe into her own chest and fell into the water, and we have no idea if it was real or not - people around the city have been talking something about a ghost that comes back to haunt captains, trying to find her long lost love-” at this point Marcus’s eyes get dreamy, and Molly bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t laugh out loud.

“I know it sounds stupid,” Marcus continues with a shake of his head, “but I hope to find her, and help her. It such a sad thing to go through over and over.”

“I bet you can do it,” Molly says solemnly and clasps him on the shoulder.

It’s a nice story, really, but he doubts the girl who died on the docks was a ghost. She was probably Jester’s duplicate. Lucky for them, the story got picked up and twisted into something that aided them in their escape.

Unfortunately, it also makes it harder for Molly to find them. He’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to find a ship he doesn’t know the name of and knowing his friends they might end up just about anywhere. Still, he has to start somewhere. Doubting his newly branded pirate friends want to stick around in Nicodranas and get caught, he thinks about the only other city he knows of in the Menagerie Coast. Now, getting to Port Damali on foot would be near impossible and by the time he’d set foot in the city, the Mighty Nein would for sure be unreachable, so that’s out of the question. Surely if he just crossed the sea, he’d get there faster.

He interrupts Marcus when he opens his mouth to continue, and inquires about any places anyone might be hiring crew members; he says it’s for further research, of course. Marcus looks surprised for a moment, but tells him, and grins when Molly tells him he roots for him and the girl he’s looking for. Molly thanks him once more for helping him with this book and then makes his way through the now sizable crowd into the crisp evening air of Nicodranas.

The streets are nowhere near empty, but they’re no longer filled with people either. It’s quite late, but some of the citizens have just gotten started with their evenings. There are several taverns scattered around the cities, some of which have sitting areas outside. There are small tables with scrawny looking legs on porches and pressed against the sides of the buildings. The darker it gets the more torches get lit up to illuminate the vicinity. There’s people drinking, eating, chatting, some playing instruments and wallowing in their own thoughts.

Molly pulls his coat tighter around him as the evening gets chillier and the wind from the sea sharper, and tries to dodge any drunken hollers from the taverns. He stops to ask a woman who looks mostly sober for more directions, and then takes an emptier alley, away from the busy streets.

He’s not far from the docks when he hears the flapping of wings somewhere behind him. He slows his walk until he stops altogether and turns to look over his shoulder just as an owl lands on the rooftop of a building not far from him. It hoots and stares at Molly, and after a solid half a minute staring contest, Molly snorts and keeps walking.

The owl keeps following him all the way to the Withered Bird Inn. During that walk Molly stops once more, turning to look at the owl incredulously.

“Are you lost? I thought owls lived in forests.” he says, and then squints at the owl. “Or are you not an owl? Are you a familiar? Or a, uh, owl person?”

The owl answers his interrogation with another hoot, and that’s that. Molly chooses to ignore it. He has things to do and places to be. He waves at the bird over his shoulder and continues his walk, spending the rest of the it trying to ignore the continuous flapping of wings behind him.

He’s too occupied with ignoring the bird, so occupied in fact that it isn’t until he steps through the front door of the Withered Bird Inn and sees the various people in it that he realizes it: he’s completely out of his depth here. These people, no matter how different in looks, races, ages, all clearly live a life at the sea. For a moment Molly just stands there and stares. He doesn’t know how he looks to them - a twice dead ex-member of a carnival on the look out for his friends that might or might not be pirates now?

He should have a plan, because he knows nothing about sailing and he has next to no coin, and with neither of those it might be impossible to get a ride to Port Damali. He needs to bullshit his way onto a ship. But how?

He decides to buy a drink - a non alcoholic this time, he doesn’t want to be drunk for this - and sits down in a corner table that is more or less unoccupied. Then he waits, and he listens.

It only takes him half an hour to start feeling defeated. It seems like the sailors have their own language, or at least a bastardized version of common. Either that, or their conversations circle strictly around sea faring and Molly is just very, _very_ , unfamiliar with the terminology. He hears some talk of needed crew members, but the titles are unfamiliar and tell nothing about what he’d be needed to do, so faking them is out of the question.

There really is only one thing he can fake: a cook. He has cooked once or twice in his life, it surely cannot be that hard to do, even on water. He sits and thinks about it for few more moments, until the front door opens, a woman steps in, and the two men next table over start murmuring about her.

Molly keeps an eye on her while he listens to the men.

She has brown hair, dark skin and a scar running up from under her jaw to her left cheekbone. She’s wearing a long coat and a hilt of a sword is sticking out slightly behind the opening.

And according to the men beside him, she’s a captain. Exactly what he needs.

He waits for a moment for her to order a drink and settle down before he makes his way over to her. She looks like she’s only there to wind down a little, and that impression intensifies when she sees Molly approaching and her expression turns sour.

“I’m not looking for anything,” she says. She’s tapping her fingers against the side of her pint, her dark nails reflecting the light from the candles above her table. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Ah, actually, I. I heard from the nice fellas over there,” he motions somewhere over his shoulder, “that you might be looking for crew members? I’m a cook myself, been for years, and I’ve decided to move my business to Port Damali, but the problem is I don’t have coin to pay for the trip. So, I’ve been looking for a crew that might be in need of some good belly-filling food and someone to cook that up.”

“You’re a cook?” She scratches her chin and scrutinizes Molly’s face like she sees the cracks in his story. “Hmm, too bad, we already have one of those. Actually, I think none of the crews around here need one for now. Is there anything else you can do, any experience whatsoever?”

Molly can feel the corner of his mouth twitching, and fights to keep his smile natural and undimmed.

“Unfortunately, no-” He stops talking when the captain looks away from him dismissively and bites his lip hard. He really can’t afford to wait for a crew that happens to need another cook. He needs to get going _now_ ; he’s already late as it is. He decides on an approach that’s a little closer to the truth. “I used to be part of a carnival. For as long as I can remember, actually. While I might not be that familiar with the sea, I’m well used to traveling and know what people are like when working and living together through day and night. I’m adaptable, hard working, and I learn fast. I’m not easy to faze.”

She’s still not looking at him, but the way her fingers have stilled around her pint tell him she’s listening.

“Any job you could offer in an exchange for a ride to Port Damali, I’d take it.”

_Tap, tap, tap._ Her fingers move again.

For sometime Molly stands there, looking at her as she stares into space, her brows drawn together. He feels his skin quiver with the force of his rapidly beating heart.

He _needs_ this.

“I don’t tolerate inefficiency on my ship,” the Captain says at last. She lifts her hand to press a finger against her lips and looks at Molly, still frowning slightly. “It’ll be a shit job and if you can’t handle it, I’m dropping you off at the nearest port and there will be nothing you can do to change my mind.”

He exhales sharply and visibly loses his cool, before gathering his wits and smiling gratefully at her.

“Thank you. So much. You won’t regret this.”

“See to it that I won’t. If you don’t already know, I am Captain Lilith and my ship is called Medusa - it should be easy to find. We’ll meet at the docks at dawn; don’t be late or you’ll be left behind.”

“I’ll be there,” Molly tells her, and shakes her hand when she offers it. “Thank you.”

He’s one step forward to finding his friends, and he can’t help the wide grin that spreads on his face and then refuses to leave. It’s somewhat of a walk back to his Inn, but he doesn’t mind. He even offers a wave and a friendly “hello!” to the strange owl that once again tails after him.

Everything’s going to be fine, he can feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos pay my rent ! :)


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